


the universe is going to catch you

by silpium



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 11:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12275217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silpium/pseuds/silpium
Summary: Kageyama can’t even remember how he learned of the rumor, but he’s probably the one holding it closest to his chest of all. As stupid as believing in it is, there’s something to it that’s special, the words ringing in time with his heartbeat, humming through his veins. The idea curls and breathes within him.The rumor is hopeful, in a twisted sense, and Kageyama lets it carry him through days and nights and days. It becomes inherent within him like it was meant to be.





	the universe is going to catch you

**Author's Note:**

> there is a very strong focus on depression/suicidal ideation in this fic! the child abuse is towards kageyama, and there are some references to alcohol/cigarettes (adult usage). the ending is happy and all, but please take care of yourself and don't force yourself to read this if it'll upset you ):

There’s been a rumor going around Kitagawa Daiichi lately, flitting from person to person, place to place, quickly and quietly enough that it’s like it doesn’t exist at all. A secret wrapped up behind layers and layers, staying hugged close to everyone’s chest, but one that sometimes worms its way out and flees as though of its own accord.

Kageyama can’t even remember how he learned of the rumor, but he’s probably the one holding it closest to his chest of all. As stupid as believing in it is, there’s something to it that’s special, the words ringing in time with his heartbeat, humming through his veins. The idea curls and breathes within him.

The rumor is hopeful, in a twisted sense, and Kageyama lets it carry him through days and nights and days. It becomes inherent within him like it was meant to be.

_Nine times around the old birch tree in the center of the meadow of red and green and blue. Hold your hand on the bark ‘till you’re back to the hollow…_

Maybe it’s more a safety valve than anything else, but it works. He can just rely on this until he doesn’t want to try anymore, and the knowledge gives him more freedom than he’s had in any living memory.

There’s more happiness, too, knowing that he has a way out, knowing he can finally escape that constant ring in his ears of _useless, useless, useless, just like your deadbeat father, ruined my life by having you_. 

He clings, because the rumor is all he has, even if he won’t admit it.

_Sink down to the roots sprawling all about, and close your eyes tight, tight, tight. Steady your breathing and heartbeat…_

Living without anything within is so _easy_ : suddenly, nothing really _matters_. The stress of school, the volleyball team, his mother—what does it mean to him if he’ll just be gone soon enough, anyway? What does anything mean to him? 

The days float by without hurrying, and he goes along with them.

_And breathe in, out, and so soft you can’t even feel or hear the breath fleeing you, tell everything around you your wish, feel the desire for it pulsing in your chest._

All good things have to come to an end, though, and so does this. The end comes about just as the rumor itself did, with the same ease as a flower blooming: a natural, expected result.

Kageyama finds himself in the meadow. The tree stands there in the center of the it, the centerpiece of its beauty, and Kageyama is entranced by it. Its leaves flutter down and brush the earth. The hues all come together to make a scene as though from a painting, and it feels more like home than anything else ever has.

The bark of the maple tree is rough against his hands, coarse but not unpleasant. Nine times around, he counts, and his hands are a gentle red at the end of the looping. The sensation of the rugged pattern tingles on his hand like a memory.

The sun shines through the canopy of leaves onto him when he sits, and brings with it a glow that pierces his eyes. _Breathe in, out, steady your heartbeat_ , the rumor chimes deep within him; and a calm settles over him, dust after a harsh wind.

From deeper within him than the rumor rests, his wish—almost a prayer—tumbles forth, falling from him out into the air like the leaves above him: _I don’t want to exist anymore._

The leaves rustle above him as though in approval. He feels himself fading with unimaginable ease peace curling within him. In that foreign peace is everything he’d longed for. 

_You’ll know if it works by the way the wind hums around you like an old friend._

Kageyama dreams, then: an array of scenes and images and senses and places that seem just as real as the tree he was just leaning against. He knows it’s a dream—how?—and only that, and yet they’re so vibrant, so vivid, that the knowledge just about escapes him.

He sees Kindaichi and Kunimi on the Kitagawa Daiichi team, just a few months ago. They’re practicing with the rest of the team, and they look _happy_ , happier than Kageyama's ever seen them. Like they want to be there, want to be playing. 

He doesn’t see himself amongst the team even though he would have never, ever missed a practice even if he hadn’t gone to school that day. He doesn’t seem to be able to do anything to affect the dream, either—he’s just a bystander, watching the two of them actually enjoy themselves, and then it hits him.

Enjoy themselves—without him. It wrenches his heart almost to the point of physical pain, to think of how much better their lives would be without him, how much more content to play they would be every day.

Just as he thinks that, the scene before his mind’s eye shifts from the open, light gymnasium to a dingy, one-room apartment he can barely see in; the only reason he can is because of the piercing glow of the TV infomercials. It _reeks_ of cigarette smoke, choking, and the underlying smell of alcohol combines into a nauseating stench.

His mother is sleeping on the couch, legs hanging off it because it’s far too small. The house is a mess, cans littered around it, and there’s one just off the couch that his mother must have dropped when she fell asleep. 

She’s barely even breathing. The apartment looks as though she never leaves it and never lets anyone in. The isolation is repressive, bordering on claustrophobic. If this is what her life would be, should she be alone, then…

That world disappears, and before him is a volleyball team— _Karasuno High_ , the jerseys proclaim, one of the schools he signed up to attend—losing, invariably and frustratingly, match after match. Practice matches with a team called Nekoma, the first match of Interhigh. 

There’s a Karasuno player with fiercely earnest potential. Kageyama’s hands tingle with envy. Reflexes, speed, natural ability—he has a core skillset that’s perfect, yet the team, even its setter, can’t make any use of it. Every time, he jumps for the spike—and Kageyama can see this want, this _need_ , in his eyes—and every time, he misses or is ignored.

He’s crushed by it match after match, to see that need simmer down to nothing more than a hopeless wish. He still trains, and Kageyama sees that much, but that potential never gets unlocked—and he can tell the boy knows it, too.

If they were on the same team, then—maybe he could have something of a purpose.

His heart seizes suddenly, then, with a sense of gross _wrongness_ , rooted in his chest and through his veins. That thought was out of place. 

These dreams, whatever they are—they’re all the world without him, aren’t they? And none of them feel as right as they should have, as he always thought it would feel. It’s warped like water-rotted wood, all hollow and gnarled beyond recognition, and nowhere near easy to let go of. 

The movement of his heart’s chambers in his chest is palpable: _Maybe I do want to exist._

When he opens his eyes, the meadow is silent and softly glowing with the moonbeams cast down on it. 

Kageyama’s limbs feel weighed down by stone, yet he’s more awake than he has been ever before. Freer. The meadow before him is foreign; even in the night, the blues seem brighter, the reds deeper, the greens more vibrant, as though painted with a different shade of the same family.

This world is new, and it unfolds before him as though in invitation. Fireflies float throughout the air, the pattern of their gleaming an indecipherable message. 

They brighten the night before him as though illuminating a path.

/ * \

His dream soon comes to life, just as he had anticipated.

The boy from his dream—red hair, more energy than can be good for him, so short he should still be in elementary school—appears before him one day. 

_I can jump_ , he declares in full-fledged confidence; _I don’t have to give up._

Kageyama can feel his heart beating as he tells him, _So show me._

**Author's Note:**

> a big thanks to my love [clem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM) for betaing! 
> 
> thank you a lot for reading!! please feel free to comment with concrit or otherwise—it's very appreciated ;v;
> 
> i'm on twitter [@hhatsunetsu](https://twitter.com/hhatsunetsu) if you'd like to hmu!


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